


Ace of Hearts

by gingerpunches



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Peter Parker, Eventual Romance, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peter is Spider-man PS4 Peter, Secret Identity, and makes all his own gadgets and suits instead of tony, but the avengers will be in this, except peter and wade are head over heels and just won't do anything about it, not to Wade though, so he's 23, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-10 21:20:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18416072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerpunches/pseuds/gingerpunches
Summary: Peter's identity is in jeopardy when he keeps running into a group of stubborn, curious college kids hell-bent on sating their own curiosity. It's mostly harmless, but with the city falling apart and Wade starting to act strangely, he has no time to do things gently. It's either his way or the highway, and these four ESU juniors are making it increasingly difficult on keeping his sticky grip on the wheel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first marvel fic, lol. i won't say much before this, except: i like tom holland's spider-man, don't get me wrong. but i also love ps4 spider-man, because i'm tired of all the jail bait jokes in this fandom. this fic is also deeply rooted in the ps4 game, but i'll be bringing in elements from the marvel films, deadpool's films, and some comic book stuff, too, so no one feels left out. wade is ryan reynolds wade, as well, but i'm still learning his voice. as always, leave comments and kudos because they keep me going, and let me know what you think!

“I think he’s black.”

Brett snorts. “Why? Because he runs fast? Jumps high?”

“No,” Zoe says defensively. “Because we don’t have a lot of black supers, dumbass. Black Panther doesn’t count because he’s not here all the time. Or, like, ever.” 

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist? Hello?” Ryan says, her voice pitched high. 

Brett flaps his hand. “Nah. Spidey’s definitely a white guy. He would’ve been shot already if he hadn’t been.”

“This is turning incredibly racist,” Kristi mutters from her place in between Ryan and Brett. She sips her coffee, and Zoe sighs. 

“Can we just agree to disagree? My dreams of black Spidey are ruined forever now,” she whines.

“We say that every time and still have this conversation,” Brett says. “But, y’know. Agree to disagree.”

They all turn the corner, keeping together as a group as well as they can in the bustling evening foot traffic of New York. Maybe meeting for seven p.m. coffee wasn’t the smartest plans they’d initiated since the beginning of the semester, but it kept them together amidst the chaos of their staggering schedules and the general mayhem of the city. It also facilitated this stupid conversation that they  _ always  _ had to turn into an argument - at least, as far as Zoe could determine. Brett just enjoyed ruffling everyone’s feathers, though that was probably just his being a white boy.

“But I need to  _ kno—ow,”  _ Ryan whines. Her breath puffs in front of her in the cold winter air when she extends the vowels. She gestures in front of her as if Spider-Man were posing in front of them, ready to be judged not-so-discreetly. “He’s been around for how long and  _ no one _ knows who he is?”

They all descent the stairs to the subway, the cold of the evening air abruptly cutting off as they head underground. Kristi, so far silent during this bout of arguing, shrugs her shoulders.

“His super friends probably know. The Avengers. That Deadpool guy, maybe, since he seems, like, a cheap knock-off of Spider-Man,” she says. 

“ _ Cheap?” _ Brett exclaims. Zoe elbows him as they pass the turnstiles, swiping their metro cards over the screen on top of them when they separate. Brett grunts and cuts in line in front of her as retaliation. “Deadpool is a total bad-ass. I heard his kill count was through the fuckin’ roof before he started teaming up with the Avengers.”

“Before,” Zoe emphasizes. They gather on the platform to wait for their train, huddling together to battle off the chill the tunnels push their way. “He hasn’t killed since coming here. Which, in my opinion, is a  _ good  _ thing. A hero shouldn’t kill no matter how slimy the bad guys are.”

Brett deflates a little. “C’mon. He’s so cool, though.”

“And annoying,” Kristi and Ryan say together.”

Brett scoffs, previous belittled attitude gone. “Whatever. Still cool. He has  _ swords.” _

Zoe rolls her eyes. “All right, lover boy. I know what kind of body pillow I’m getting  _ you _ for Christmas now.”

Bret turns a lovely shade of red, amplified by his red hair and beard. He sputters but otherwise doesn’t argue, the pleasant chatter of Kristi and Ryan a perfect excuse for him to escape on his phone. Zoe smiles proudly and lets him get away this time, sipping her own coffee and waiting patiently for their train. 

It screeches to a halt in a whoosh of cold air and they board, stuffing themselves against the back of the car in a group so they don’t get separated in the crowd. They all play on their phones then, the sound of the car moving through the subway too loud to keep up a conversation. It suits them all just fine - when they reach Chinatown a half hour later, it’s like their conversation never ended.

“Still think he’s black,” Zoe chirps as they emerge from the subway into the fresh - well, fresh _ er _ \- air above ground. The rest of her friends moan, smacking her arm and back and three separate intervals.

“I’m binging the rest of Supernatural tonight because you won’t let this go,” Kristi growls. 

Zoe’s nose scrunches in disgust while Ryan and Brett snicker. “Please don’t. I’ll literally pay you to not watch that awful show for the rest of your life.”

“Sure,” Kristi says. Her smile turns dark. “Pay my student loans and we’ll talk.”

“Nevermind! Fine, watch Supernatural. We can pretend it doesn’t queer bait its characters instead of watching something with, y’know, substance.”

“Anime isn’t substance, Zoe,” Ryan laughs.

“Done  _ right _ it’s substance,” Zoe shoots back.

The rest of them groan in good nature, too used to the banter by now to care about getting heated. They climb the stairs together to their shared apartment - a rather nice place for Chinatown, two bedrooms with an open living room and kitchen facing the river, sitting snugly above a family-run trinket shop downstairs. Zoe deposits her book bag on the couch after Brett unlocks the apartment, her roommates following suit and splitting off to do decompress. Zoe, because she loves her friends too dearly to let them torture themselves by eating ramen again for the fifth night in a row, taps away an order for pizza on her phone, waiting for their driver to confirm delivery before tossing her phone next to her bag.

“Your turn,” Kristi says as she exits the bathroom down the hall. Her long blonde hair is down now, flowing over her shoulders instead of up in the severe bun she has to put it in for her business classes. She looks so much younger this way, and if Zoe hadn’t known what her major was, she wouldn’t have guessed such a nice girl wanted to go into the corporate world someday.

“Better not turn on Supernatural while I shower,” Zoe warns. Kristi just smiles pleasantly as they pass each other, giving a little wave when she hops over the back of the couch and turns on the television. Zoe knows she’s going to, so she takes extra long in the shower, probably running down the hot water more than she should with two more roommates behind her that like to take nightly showers too.

She brushes out her dark hair afterwards and then wraps in a towel to dry before leaving the bathroom for someone else. Brett and Ryan are out in the living room now, dressed in lounge pants and more comfortable shirts. Ryan is cocooned in blankets on the loveseat - she’s always cold - only her face sticking out of the colorful mound, her dark eyes sleepy as she watches Dean and Sam kill vampires on the screen. Brett is watching with interest, and Kristi is still smiling pleasantly as she watches.

Zoe smacks her shoulder as she cuddles up next to her girlfriend. “You’re awful,” she says in greeting.

Kristi giggles and leans into Zoe despite being gently hit. “It’s so bad it’s good. Don’t deny it.”

“I’m just happy it’s ending soon,” Ryan says, her sentence tapering off into a yawn. “Fifteen seasons is too long to not figure out how to write a good story.”

Brett snorts. “Please. If you had the money, wouldn’t you want to produce your fanfiction into a t.v. show?”

“Me? The English major? Write  _ fanfiction? Nooo, _ ” Ryan says dramatically, her scandalized tone diminished by her lack of arms and legs because of her blanket fort. It makes Kristi laugh, and Zoe has never heard a more beautiful sound.

Except the doorbell announcing the arrival of food, startling them all. Zoe leaps off the couch and retrieves their dinner, tipping the delivery boy generously before setting the pizzas down on the kitchen counter like they’re sacred objects. Her roommates shoot up from their seats and serve themselves, scarfing down slices like they’re starved.

“Thanks, Zoe,” Brett says around a mouthful of cheese. “You’re the  _ best.” _

Zoe flaps her hand and settles next to Kristi on the couch again, content now to watch bad television with great food. “We deserved it. End of the week and all that. Figured if we were going to die from malnutrition, it should be from pizza, and not cup-noodles.”

Ryan whines despite her mouth being full of pizza. “But I like cup-noodles.”

“But they don’t like you,” Brett says, and they laugh.

A pleasant silence settles over them, the gorey sounds of Winchester brothers killing all manner of supernatural beings doing nothing to curb their appetite for greasy food. When they’ve finished their second pizza and are lounging around in a food coma after about an hour, Zoe clears her throat, lifting her head from where it rested on Kristi’s shoulder as they’d relaxed.

“Spider-Man’s gay,” she says loudly.

Her friends groan and throw whatever they can at her, including their cat, Beans. Beans doesn’t care, only purrs when Zoe catches him and giggles as she arranges him on her lap. Her friends continue to complain as she does so, the Argument starting up again, until they hear a loud, rickety  _ thump  _ outside the window leading to the fire escape.

They all shut up instantly, freezing where they sit. The t.v. still chatters away, Dean and Castiel’s voices low in volume, doing nothing to hide the other two voices starting to talk on their fire escape. Zoe goes to stand, slowing moving off the couch and slinking towards the window despite Kristi grabbing her hand.

“Stay here,” Kristi hisses. “You don’t know who’s out there!”

Zoe ignores her. She can hear Ryan fumbling behind her to get her phone, a shuffle of blankets and limbs and pizza boxes as everyone else follows behind Zoe. She reaches out and moves the curtains just slightly, only enough to peek, and she nearly recoils when she catches a glimpse of something incredibly familiar to every resident of New York City.

 

—

 

“And I’m  _ telling  _ you, Wade, there’s something up with Otto,”

Wade flaps a hand like there’s nothing to worry about with Peter’s friend and mentor growing more obsessed with prosthetic limbs controlled by the human brain. “Puh- _ lease,  _ Petey. He’s probably, like, experiencing a mid-life crisis or something. Old people do that all the time.  _ I  _ do that all the time.”

“You’re not old,” Peter says lamely. He shifts his weight, leaning over his thighs as he crouches on the railing of the fire escape. He wouldn’t tell him, but carrying Wade while slinging across the city has been knocking it out of him lately. Hopefully this excuse to capture some photos for his navigational data was enough of an excuse for Wade to overlook how quickly Peter was breathing.

“But I am crazy,” Wade says cheerily, planting his hands on his hips and squaring his shoulders. He looks ridiculous. “Crazy counts as a constant mid-life cris - hey! Ow!”

Peter retracts his hand from where he’d smacked Wade on his skull. “Stop talking like that and I wouldn’t have to hit you, dumbass.”

Wade, always one to seize an opportunity for innuendo, visibly smiles under the mask. “Oh, Webs. What if I want you to hit me?”

His voice is a low purr, and for the upteenth time, Peter’s grateful his mask hides everything. His lenses narrow as he glares, heat flushing up his neck and face as Wade giggles and waves at him again, already dismissing the smart remark Peter can feel on the back of his tongue. Wade knows him too well, but he isn’t too angry about it. 

He moves over on his perch instead, hopping to the side to allow Wade a seat on the thick railing of the fire escape. His friend takes the invitation with a little curtsy of his invisible dress, whistling a tune to a pop song Peter doesn’t recognize. Peter takes this rare moment of Wade’s silence to finish catching his breath, content to stay crouched on the rail, balanced on his toes as his arms and back twinge from carrying Wade all the way from Otto’s place. 

As if reading his mind, Wade leans over, catching Peter’s attention as he looks out over the city starting to come alive as the sun sets. 

“You know,” Wade stage-whispers conspiratorially, “you don’t have to carry me if it takes it out of you so much.”

Peter forgets sometimes just how damned observant Wade is. He’s annoyed, but stamps it down, willing himself to stay still and calm. He can’t fault Wade when he’s right, anyway. 

“And make you walk?” Peter scoffs. “You wouldn’t stop complaining. That’s objectively worse than carrying your fat ass around.”

Wade gasps, scandalized. It makes Peter smile. “Petey! How could you call me fat? You’re so mean!”

Peter rolls his eyes. Wade continues to ramble, filling up both their ends of the conversation with useless information, allowing Peter to rest for now. It’s enough that Peter can almost dismiss the slight tingle at the back of his skull and neck, the crawling sensation of his spidey-sense alerting him to something behind him. It’s probably an alley cat scampering up the fire escape, but the sound of a window creaking open makes him turn, body tensing, ready to leap off the railing and swing away into the night.

A face stares back at him from the open window behind him. A woman’s face, her expression one of awe as she peers at him from between the open curtains. Another woman’s face pops up above hers, blue and brown eyes staring him down, all three of them freezing at once as Peter’s heart leaps into his mouth.

“Deadpool,” Peter manages. His super name makes Wade shut up and turn around, and when he spots the two women staring at Peter, he gasps and waves.

“Hi!” Wade greets, voice pitched high. The women’s gaze snaps to him, their eyes growing impossibly wider. Wade just waves again while Peter sits frozen on the railing. “Sorry. We didn’t know this fire escape belonged to anybody. Spidey usually knows these things, but he’s, y’know, kinda tired right now.”

Peter whips around and glares at him. “Can you not? Please?”

Wade shrugs, smiling under his mask. Peter goes to jump off the rail, but the window opens fully behind him, the women climbing out to join them on the fire escape. Another woman and man step out behind them, bundled up in blankets to fend off the post-sunset chill. Peter internally groans and turns to face them, still crouched on his toes on the rail, preparing himself for the normal bout of questions people usually throw at him when they meet him.

“You’re Spider-man!” the guy exclaims. Peter has to fight tooth and nail not to roll his eyes, knowing his lenses will give him away. He nods instead, waving. The guy points at Wade, barely able to control his voice as it rises. “And Deadpool! Dude! You’re both  _ so _ cool!”

“Calm down, big guy,” Wade quips. “Don’t cream your pants, though I know it’s hard since Spidey is so…  _ nngh _ .”

Peter glares at him again. Wade’s still grinning under his stupid mask, growing wider as the girls giggle. Great, now civilians think Wade’s funny. What the hell is he gonna do about the man’s fluctuating ego now?

“Sorry if we woke you,” Peter says instead, turning back to the group of people huddled on the fire escape. They’re obviously college kids rooming together, and Peter feels bad about probably interrupting an otherwise quiet Friday evening. God knows he didn’t get enough of those when he was in college. “Usually we hang out on rooftops, but the windows were dark. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s all cool, dude!” the guy says. He seems to be the most excited, though the three women seem extremely interested anyway, their eyes roaming Peter up and down. “Though this is like, gonna seem like a super insensitive question, and I know you probably can’t answer it, but we have this long running argument and I was wondering -“

The brown-haired girl that had come out last smacks him on the arm, stopping him mid-sentence. “You can’t ask him that! That’s like, superhero etiquette one oh one!”

“Ohhh,” Wade says. He waggles his finger at them, the whites of his mask squinting. “If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, that’s a big no-no, big guy.”

The guy blushes, but he doesn’t seem any less convinced. “But I have to know! This argument will never end if I don’t know!”

“Shouldn’t I have a say in revealing my own identity?” Peter whines. Wade flaps a hand at him again.

“Please, Webs. Let the professional handle this.”

“Everyone knows who you are!” Peter exclaims, raising his arms. His sticky feet and impeccable balance keep him attached to the rail, but one of the women reaches for him anyway as if to balance him. He crouches again, leaning over his thighs, and she smiles at him sheepishly. He smiles even though she can’t see it. 

“Look,” Peter says. Wade shuts up, and the group of awed college kids huddle closer as if listening to a chunk of infinite wisdom passed on to them from a wise old man instead of a broke superhero. Peter, in a streak of mischievousness, moves slowly as if to remove his mask. His fingers graze the edge of his mask on his neck and he hears Wade mutter “don’t do it, Webs” next to him before he drops his hands again, the kids in front of him groaning when he does.

“C’mon!” the guy whines. All three women smack him, and he whines again. “Ow!”

“Sorry, guys,” Peter says, amused. “Gotta work for it.”

He winks, and Wade swoons. He rolls his eyes and webs Wade’s chest, tugging him forward so he gets off the rail and climbs on his back. It’d be intimate at any other time, but the group of kids arguing with each other in front him takes that edge off. Wade is surprisingly silent as he obeys Peter’s quiet instruction and clambers onto the rail next to him, right arm wrapped around his shoulders, ready to grab on when Peter leaps off. 

“We love you!” the kids shout as Peter does, their voices carrying out after them even when Peter swings around the corner and away down the block. Wade’s arms are warm around his shoulders, suspiciously quiet, but Peter takes this moment for what it is. His heart still beats an erratic, nervous beat in his throat from nearly revealing himself to strangers.

Wade stays silent until Peter gets them to his apartment, landing without a sound on his rooftop despite two-hundred pounds heavier than usual. Wade hops off of him, stepping back and examining Peter like he’s seeing him for the first time.

Peter raises a brow and removes his mask. “What? You’ve been weirdly quiet, Wade. Is it something I said?”

Wade seems to regain himself and shakes all his limbs in a comical impression of an electrocuted squid. He smacks his face a couple times, then waves as if nothing’s happened, moving towards the fire escape that leads down to his apartment.

“Nah,” Wade says, his tone cheerful and belying nothing of the suspicion he laid on Peter moments earlier. “Same time tomorrow night, baby?”

Peter frowns but nods. “Yeah, I guess. I need to be there for Otto, though, so I might be a bit late.”

“I won’t start dinner without you, honeybee,” Wade sings. He hops over the edge of the building then, and Peter doesn’t feel the tension leave his body until he hears Wade connect with his balcony and his window screech open and shut. 

Peter sighs. He collapses on the roof, laying back and staring up into a starless, cloudless sky, the light pollution too orange and heavy in the night to show anything but the moon. He lays there for a long time, long enough for him to hear the city truly come to life as the weekend starts.

“What the fuck am I going to do?” he murmurs to the sky. As always, it doesn’t answer, and before the cold can seep too far he gets up and swings home, stopping two robberies and a near-mugging between a woman walking home and a guy with a pocket knife. 

It’s enough, for now. It’ll have to be. 

 

—

 

“Dude, you’re so gay for both of them,” Kristi teases. She’s the first to speak since Spider-man swung away, and it makes them all laugh except Brett, the target of her remarks.

Brett blushes the darkest red Zoe has ever seen him turn. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Geez, you act like I’ve never seen a guy in spandex before.”

“No, but we haven’t seen you nearly cream your pants when a mask  _ winks _ at you,” Ryan says, giggling. Brett turns redder. “Spidey looked so uncomfortable, too. Do you think he’s gay? Do you think Brett’s his type?”

Zoe hums as she falls back onto the couch. “Definitely gay. No one carries a grown man on their backs and doesn’t have gay thoughts about it.”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Kristi says. “Are Spidey and Deadpool a thing?”

“Thing?” Ryan asks. “Like,  _ gay _ thing?”

“Like,  _ gay _ thing  _ and  _ team thing,” Kristi clarifies. She cuddles next to Zoe, Ryan sitting on the other couch with a still-embarrassed Brett.

Ryan hums, a finger to her bottom lip. They all go silent then, thinking, until something strikes Zoe.

Something about the gay thing and the team thing.

“I heard Deadpool say “Petey” to Spider-man,” she says slowly. “Do you think that’s his name? Does Deadpool know who he really is?”

“What kind of a name is Petey?” Brett grumbles.

He wraps himself in blankets and presses play on their show, more for noise than anything else. And a way to drown his embarrassment, Zoe’s sure, but she lets him be.

A little.

“It’s obviously short for Peter,” she says, a smug smile on her face. “No one in their right mind would name a guy that hot  _ Petey.” _

“Brett's parents named him Brett,” Ryan says, unable to stifle a laugh. Brett glares.

“Brett’s parents are white,” Zoe says back. Brett glares at them both harder.

“Can we not have a “Brett is the designated punching bag” night, please?” he says. “I have enough of an ego bruise as it is.”

Kristi pulls out her phone and starts typing into Facebook, suddenly serious. “I wonder if I can find him.”

“Do you know how many Peters are in New York?” Zoe asks slowly, as if to a particularly slow customer in a retail store that doesn’t quite understand that yes, these are all the shoes in this style we have and no, I’m not going into the back to look for more for you.

Kristi frowns as a page loads on the Facebook app. “A lot,” she says, defeated. She starts to tap through them, reading their bios intently. “But I'm bound to find him! I’ll start with body type, and then height and weight, and then…”

“Would a superhero even risk having a Facebook?” Ryan mutters from her rebuilt blanket fort.

“Would it be more suspicious not to have one?” Zoe says back. 

“Fair point. He does have a Twitter account. I heard people tried to hack it to see if they could trace an ID on the phone posting his tweets, but I guess his security is kinda, like,  _ oof _ beefy.”

“So he’s smart,” Kristi murmurs. Zoe watches as she restarts her search, looking now for any Peters in New York with any kind of science or computer engineering degree. After a solid thirty seconds of scrolling through pictures of white guys, Zoe slowly takes her phone away and locks it before Kristi can complain.

“How about we go to bed instead of stalking our city’s superhero on social media,” Zoe says by way of explanation. Kristi does whine then, her pretty face pulling into a frown.

“But now I have to know!” she exclaims. “I’m like Brett, except I don’t think he’s hot.”

“Brett can still hear you,” Brett mutters.

“Brett should go to sleep,” Zoe says with a smile.

Eventually, they all peel themselves away from bad television and go to bed, early for a weekend but with how this night had turned out, probably for the better. Kristi obsesses about Spidey’s identity for the better part of their bedtime routine, chatting animatedly about the possibilities of who, exactly, their resident superhero could possibly be through brushing her teeth and hair. At any other time it’d be annoying, but Zoe cuddles up to her when they finally crawl into bed and listens to her and Ryan talk until she drifts off. 

If it makes Kristi happy, she’s happy. She wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world, even if it’s about a buff dude in a skintight suit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay - i’m still learning wade’s voice. Thought i think i figured it out!

For a while, things are fine. 

Peter swings to work, somehow feeling rested despite getting little to no sleep the previous night. Shocker had carved a line of chaos through the city last night, and it took hours for Peter to feel calm - and safe - enough to go home while the authorities took Shocker back to the Raft. Even still, he couldn’t sleep, and ended up texting Wade well into the early morning.

Normally, he’d be embarrassed about talking to the mercenary for so long. Their friendship is strong, built over long years of fighting crime here in New York. But it was still hard to admit that he felt something for Wade beyond what they’ve created together, especially because he’s sure he wouldn’t have time to give proper attention to Wade.

That’s how he and MJ broke up. Not enough time for her, while he had all the time in the world for New York. 

Well, maybe things aren’t fine. 

But Otto is, in his weird, hyperactive way. Peter enters the lab with a smile, Otto humming along to the radio as he tweaks some things on the new remote control device for the arms. Peter pads quietly around the lab, taking in everything new Otto has ordered. A lot more stuff from AIM, a new deck of 3D printers against the far wall and shiny plates of carbon fiber - likely prototypes for the arms, given their shapes. 

“Workin’ hard, doc?” Peter calls. His spidey-sense tingles right before Otto drops his screwdriver, and Peter winces and turns to face him. “Sorry. I’ve been startling everyone lately.”

“Peter!” Otto greets. “Please, come in, you didn’t startle me.”

Peter is across the lab in an instant, scooping up the screwdriver Otto had dropped and holding it out for him with a smile. Otto smiles back, something knowing in his eyes, but before Peter can worry about what it means, it’s gone.

“I’m glad you’re here, Peter,” Otto continues. “I’ve just finished a rough mock-up of the remote control device we will use for demonstrations. The committee will  _ have _ to give us money now!”

Peter frowns. “What about Osborn?”

Otto’s expression visibly darkens. It’s been a couple weeks since Norman swept through and took everything, but it would take more than that amount of time to dull that kind of betrayal. Peter doesn’t press, instead turning to the pair of arms sitting on their braces, still in their safe mode. 

“I tuned their transmitters so they react much more quickly than before,” Otto says instead. He clips the back of the controller back on and brandishes it to Peter, a proud smile on his face. “Would you like to do the honors?”

As much as he would love to, Peter holds up his hands as if in surrender. “Nah, Doc. This is all you. I haven’t been much help lately.”

Between the Demons, Sable, and trying to eat and sleep, he really hasn’t. New York is chaotic enough as it is without two independent, psychotic factions warring with each other, and lately he hasn’t had the time to pick and choose his targets. Everyone and everything is now considered an enemy. It’s  _ tiring. _

Otto smiles, a glint in his eye that Peter doesn’t like. “Sure. Helping out Spider-man must be tiring. I understand, Peter.”

Peter wants to strangle someone. Why does everyone suddenly have a sixth sense for his alter ego? Is he not doing enough to hide it? Is the universe just out to get him? 

He tries to smile without it looking too tight, and nods. “Yeah,” he says, and god damnit, he can hear the strain in his voice. “There’s a lot going on in the city, anyway, with these Demons running around.”

It’s Otto’s turn to look shuttered. “Yes. You’re exactly right, Peter.”

He tries not to let it bother him as Otto abandons his work to refill his coffee mug. Doc’s probably just tired from doing all this work, so Peter tidies up the lab a bit, storing things so Otto can easily reach them and organizing already finished work to be applied later. He urges Otto to take a long lunch - which he nearly outright refuses - but when his arms stiffen up again, Otto slips out of the lab, defeated. Peter feels bad, but he also doesn’t want his friend to suffer.

He flattens all the cardboard the AIM supplies came in and tries his best not to think about the stipulations this stuff came with. Norman yanked the rug out from under them, sure, but he’s not positive turning to AIM was better. Otto’s making progress, though, and once the lab looks like it hasn’t been hit by a category five hurricane, Peter drags the spectrometer across his worktop and tries to make sense of what Otto’s been looking at for material candidates.

“You’ve been busy,” Peter says to himself. He flips through the datapad next to the spectrometer, reviewing Otto’s progress. Microfilament graphene fibers, carbon-coated glass, even nanites patented by Tong Stark - Otto was looking at all of it for both prosthetic use and the intra-cranial receiving system. He peers into the spectrometer, adjusting dials and filters until he can better make matches to some of the unknown materials, and scribbles down his findings next to Otto’s rougher handwriting. 

It’s busy work that sets his mind at ease. The past few days have been weird to say the least, and not being pried by strangers melts the tension he’s been holding in his spine since encountering those kids on their fire escape. He gets so sucked up in his work, relaxed and finding a rhythm he hasn’t felt in a week, that his spidey-sense is late in alerting him to Otto placing a hand on his shoulder.

“So studios,” Otto says with a smile, even as Peter shoots out of his seat and nearly jumps to the high-roofed ceiling. Otto sets down some familiar white takeout containers next to Peter’s elbow and motions towards them. “For you.”

“Thanks,” Peter mumbles. Otto sits across from him and Peter shoves the spectrometer aside, making room for them to share. “I tidied up a bit, too. Should make things easier on you as you work.”

Otto smiles, more genuine than knowing. “You’re a chronically late genius, but thank you for all that you do. I wouldn’t be her without you, Parker.”

Peter snorts and accepts his portion of the Chinese food Otto doles out for him. “Please. I do some heavy lifting and double check your work, but you came farther than I would’ve. Look at that!”

He points with his chopsticks towards the twin prosthetic arms resting on the testing table, still idling. They’re a sleek grey, unintimidating when motionless, but Peter has seen them in action. They’re quick and dangerous, and while it unnerves Peter all that Otto’s done to get this far, seeing the progress makes it hard to lament some mistakes.

Otto makes a chiding noise in his throat, mouth full of noodles. “Like I said - chronically late genius. Focus on the genius part, and we’ll be shipping these bad boys out to the world by tomorrow.”

Peter smiles. He likes the idea of helping people, no matter how small - and a prosthetic limb is no small thing to an amputee. What they’re doing here is life-changing work, so some speed bumps have to expected along the way.

“You’re right, Doc. Sorry for being negative.”

Otto scoffs. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you up to speed, and maybe you can take over for me on the controller so I can get some replacement parts printed for tomorrow.”

They eat quickly, renewed interest in their work firing their enthusiasm that lasts well into the later hours of the evening. Peter’s cell phone doesn’t ring once the whole time, so he’s content to let the city take care of itself just this once to prove to Otto that he’s really here to stay, paycheck be damned. Otto seems to appreciate it, and after they lock up and Otto’s around the corner, Peter darts up the side of the building to the roof to retrieve his suit. 

He doesn’t put it on, though. He’s tired from working bent over a table most of the day, and knowing New York, something will explode the moment he thinks about donning it. So he stuffs it in his bag instead, clambers back down the building when the street is clear, and walks to the nearest subway station to get himself to Wade’s.

Which probably isn’t the best place to be right now, but considering his recent eviction, he has nowhere else to go. May doesn’t need to know how late Peter’s been staying out, even if she’s busy enough that she’ll probably not notice anyway. But it’s enough to propel him across the city to Wade’s, trying very hard not to suit up in an alley halfway there when the itch to swing comes to him. 

He bypasses the lobby of Wade’s nice apartment building entirely by clambering up the side in an alley, taking off his shoes and putting them in his backpack so his toes can stick to the cold brick through his socks. It’s still wet from the earlier rain, soaking his socks, so he peels them off when he gets to Wade’s balcony ten floors up. He stuffs them into his bag, too, and before he can knock on the sliding glass door, Wade yanks open the blinds and slides open the door. 

“I heard a little spider climbing my water spout,” Wade teases, a smile on his face. Peter rolls his eyes and steps inside, past Wade into the warm bubble of his apartment. Wade closes the door behind him with a soft click.

“This isn’t our normal rooftop meeting, Petey,” Wade continues, tone chipper yet probing. Peter dumps his bag next to Wade’s couch, careful to avoid the disassembled weapons spread on his coffee table in front of it as he collapses onto the plush cushions. Wade circles around the other side and sits next to him, watching Peter expectantly.

“I know,” Peter sighs. “It’s just - everyone is too keen, lately. I think Otto knows I’m Spider-man, besides the whole, y’know, literally catching me with my suit in the lab a couple weeks ago.”

“Is that gonna stop  you from webbing no-good jerks to walls?” Wade says.

Peter frowns. “I mean. No?”

Wade shrugs. “Then why worry? No one's gonna figure it out, even Doctor Unstable. And if this is about those kids last night? Pete, they’re  _ strangers _ .”

Peter groans. “I  _ know, _ but -”

“Now!” Wade hops up and rounds the couch, disappearing into his room down the hall before Peter can stop him. He returns much quicker than Peter expects, dressed in his Deadpool gear sans mask, and waggles his eyebrows at Peter suggestively. “Wanna get your ass in spandex and go kick some ass?”

Peter can’t help but smile. His worry falls away, and he gets up, grabbing his bag.

“No peeking,” he warns. Wade gasps as Peter brushes by on his way to the bathroom, covering his cheeks with both hands in mock shock.

“Petey! I would never want to peek at that wonderful, shapely booty of yours! Consent is my number one rule, afterall. You should know that!”

Peter rolls his eyes. The bathroom door clicks closed behind him and he strips quickly, less in fear of Wade and more to battle the jittery, uneasy energy that always comes with patrolling. He folds his clothes and sets them on Wade’s clean bathroom counter and pulls  on his suit in one quick, fluid motion. He pulls up the hidden zipper on his back and grabs his mask before stepping back out into the hallway.

Wade perks up and twists around as he does, his mask over his face now. He gasps and fans himself as Peter comes down the hall, and pretends to faint when Peter decides to show off and leaps onto the back of the couch, balancing on his toes as he crouches on the stiff backing just behind Wade. 

“Oh, Petey,” Wade swoons, voice shrill. “You know what your thighs do to me! Is this torture? Am I dead?”

Peter scoffs despite the blush he feels rising on his face. “Why don’t you pinch me and find out?”

Wade winks, and this time his voice is low, a sultry purr that shoots down Peter’s spine in a line of heat. “Is that consent?

Peter smacks Wade with his mask before slipping it over his still-burning face. “C’mon, horndog. Let’s burn some energy.”

“I know some  _ other _ ways we can burn some energy,” Wade says, but he follows Peter as he dismounts the back of the couch anyway. Peter pulls open the sliding door and hops onto the balcony railing, waiting patiently for Wade to wrap his arms around his chest before leaping away. 

The rush of air that greets him is always so freeing, so unassuming. Being up here, between towers of glass and flocks of birds, nothing can touch him - not even his enemies. They have to work hard to get him here, have to fight tooth and nail to acquire technology to touch him here, but he can do as naturally as breathing. With the aid of his own technology, sure, but even without the webs, he can nearly touch the stars. 

This rush of air also terrifies Wade, though. He’s always a chatterbox, always going on and on about  _ your ass this, let’s kill that, _ but up here, he’s quiet. Peter understands that, even with a man like Wade, everyone has their fear of heights. 

He slings them to their normal meeting place when Peter doesn’t show up at Wade’s apartment, landing deftly on the side of a rooftop radio tower. Wade’s arms tighten around his chest before Peter gets one sticky hand on his wrist, and then Wade loosens his grip, allowing Peter to take his full weight in one strong grip and lower him to the ground a couple feet below. 

“That never gets less hot,” Wade quips. Peter squints his eyes, and Wade laughs. “You just about dead-lifted a solid two-hundred pounds of me. Please tell me you wouldn’t be swooning if you saw that, either.”

“How about we focus on why we’re here?” Peter says instead. He crawls along the side of the tower, stopping when he gets a little further up to better scan the city with his mask. Nothing immediately stands out, but the night is still early. The Demons won’t be quiet for long.

Wade hums the beginning tune of  _ The Golden Girls,  _ swinging a small knife on his index finger as he follows Peter on the ground. “Okay, Lassie. Which way?”

Peter snorts, but Wade’s timing is impeccable. Peter’s cell phone rings, and before Wade can say something smug, Peter takes it out of the hidden sleeve along his waistband and answers it with a smile. 

“Yuri! Long time no talk,” he says in greeting. 

Yuri sighs on the other side. “ _ We talked yesterday, Spider-man. Did you already forget about Shocker?” _

Peter scoffs. “What? Nah. That guy is huge teddy bear. He just needs a hug, is all.”

_ “All the property damage he has to pay for begs to differ,”  _ Yuri says.  _ “But you know that’s not why I’m calling, right?” _

“Sure. What do you have?”

_ “Demons. They’re taking over empty stores and recycling centers, and we need to know why and who’s behind it all. Think you can do that for me?” _

Peter hums. “I think I can. I’ll give you a call soon, Yuri. Or maybe…” Peter drops his voice, a raspy version of his normal speaking tone that makes him smile. “ _ Spider-cop will.” _

Wade guffaws, and Yuri sighs before hanging up. Peter, lenses of his mask squinting in delight, stores his phone back in the protective sleeve across his waist. 

“You’re something else, Webs,” Wade says under him, shaking his head. Peter drops down beside him, and Wade turns with a smile underneath his mask. “Wanna party?”

Peter holds out a hand. Wade’s hand slides over his own, leather rasping over kevlar-reinforced spandex, Wade’s fingers careful to skim over Peter’s web shooter. Peter lets his arm wrap around his chest, Wade’s other hand coming to rest on his ribs, a gentle, warm touch.

Peter tries not to let his breathing show just how it affects him. “Are we dancing?” he says instead, the knee-jerk urge to joke saving him from embarrassing himself. 

Wade eventually wraps his other arm around Peter’s chest. “Do you want to?”

“With some thugs, maybe, sure,” he says. His heart is in his throat, beating loudly between his ears. 

Wade laughs, and suddenly the tension melts. “Swing me away, sweetums. You know just how I like it.”

Peter snorts. Wade yelps when he jumps off the roof, clinging to him like a - well, like a spider, as Peter swings them towards an alert his mask highlights for him from the built-in police scanner. Demons are making trouble, just like Yuri said they would, and the excitement for exerting energy pushes him to swing quicker towards danger. 

“Oh! You  _ did _ bring me to a party!” Wade yells happily as they round a corner to find a group of six Demons lurking in an alley, none too gently prying open the back door of an empty thrift store. “Spidey, you shouldn’t have.”

The Demons murmur amongst themselves as Peter drops to the asphalt and Wade hops off his back. Wade counts each of them, pointing with his index finger, his other hand on his hip. 

“Eenie, meanie, miney, moe…” he says. “Ohh, I think there’s enough of me to go around for all of you.”

“And me?” Peter says. “C’mon, I want to punch.”

Wade flaps his wrist. Before he can respond, the Demons appear to have had enough, and they launch themselves at Wade and Peter with weapons drawn.

Two of the smaller, quicker Demons meet Wade in a clang of steel, their katanas swinging inward to try and cut him in half. Wade shoves them away, but instead of going for him again, they swing at Peter while their four buddies descend on Wade.

Peter hops over the swing of their blades crossing towards him, shooting a web above himself at a fire escape and uses it as a swing, his momentum carrying his feet right into their masked noses with a  _ crunch _ . Their swords clatter to the ground, and before they can get up again - or their weapons can be scooped up - Peter webs them all to the pavement and swings into the wall, using as a springboard.

Wade - so far doing his best to battle off four different pairs of fists and oddly-powered weapons by non-lethal means - jumps back away from them all when Peter shouts his name. It staggers the Demons closest to them, and Peter, mid-fall, uses a web to adjust and crashes down on one of the thug’s shoulders. He crumples to the ground in a heap, taking Peter with him. 

“Fore!” Wade shouts above him. Peter rolls towards him as a metal pipe goes whistling over his head, connecting with the ribcage of another Demon grabbing for him. The Demon grunts and topples over, clutching his side with what must be four or five broken ribs from Wade’s considerable strength. He doesn’t move besides curling into himself in a groan of pain.

The last remaining Demons - two skinny men with no weapons besides their fists - freeze where they are as Peter rises from his crouch. Wade whistles behind him, swingin the pipe with his hand at his side. 

“Oh, Spidey,” Wade says. “You’re like the tastiest of Slim Jims when you stand like that, babyakes.”

Peter tries not to smile. At least his mask covers the blush. “In front of Demons? Really?”

Wade blows a raspberry. “I mean, if they want to join…”

“Ew. I’m not really into roleplay, ‘Pool - the masks and weird weapons? I gotta say -”

The Demons shout something in Mandarin, cutting Peter off, before they turn tail and book it down the alley. Before they can disappear around a dumpster, Peter grabs them both with two webs, yanking back across the pavement with a sharp jerk. He tugs himself forward with a web in the same movement, sticking to a wall and webbing them down. Wade huffs a laugh behind him.

“I think they forgot you’re Spider-man,” Wade says. He saunters down the alley, still twirling the pipe. “I could watch those arms yank around bad guys all day, though. Or those legs. Or that a -”

Peter huffs and uses just his feet to stick to the wall, leaning his elbows on his thighs. He’s suddenly angry, a dog snapping at nothing, at Wade’s quips. “Do you only know how to flirt with me? Is that all the substance you have for me?”

“I mean, you took down four full grown dudes with a couple’a webs and some backflips. I did that in my first movie - minus the web part - and I gotta say, it was pretty hot.”

“Right,” Peter sighs. He scratches his head, then takes his cell phone out of his waistband and dials Yuri. She picks up on the second ring, her tone surprised.

_ “That was fast, _ ” she says.  _ “Beat up some guys for me?” _

“Just some guys,” Peter says. He puts her on speaker and taps away an address for her, then sends the text. “They probably don’t know much, but the night is young.”

_ “Thanks. I’ll send some Uni’s over, I’m sure they’d like to meet you.” _

“By me, I hope you also mean -“

_ “Not Spider-cop!”  _ Yuri practically shouts.  _ “Or Deadpool!” _

Wade sighs and visibly deflates. “She never wants them to meet me…”

“You’re hurting Deadpool’s feelings,” Peter chides. 

_ “Deadpool can kiss my - nevermind.”  _ Yuri sighs, heavy and put upon.  _ “Stay there until my guys show up. Please - keep an eye out for more.” _

Peter hums. “Sure. Thanks, Yuri.”

“You owe me an apology!” Wade shouts. 

Yuri sighs again and hangs up. Peter puts his phone away, smiling, and drops to the ground to meet Wade for a fist bump.

“She doesn’t like me,” Wade whines. His mask droops with his frown, and he kicks at the nearest Demon, making the webbed criminal grunt. “All the hard work I do…”

“I took down most of these guys,” Peter says.

“I  _ let _ you take down most of these guys,” Wade counters. 

Peter snorts. He can hear sirens in the distance, growing closer quickly. Peter holds out a hand and tries very hard not to focus too much on Wade’s warm fingers travelling up his arm like a coiling snake leisurely travelling across a branch.

When the officers arrive, Peter carries Wade across the city, stopping two more groups of Demons and busting a hideout of theirs in an abandoned retail store. Yuri’s information is solid - as always - but even moving quickly, these things take time, and Peter is more mentally exhausted than usual. He can’t get Otto’s words out of his brain, and by the time he’s dropping Wade off at his apartment, he’s pretty sure Wade’s noticed.

“Want to talk about it?” Wade asks, quiet, like he’s afraid to send Peter sprinting away. He looks Peter up and down, slipping off his mask as he does, perceptive eyes meeting Peter’s.

Peter sighs and shakes his head. “No. I don’t want to bother anyone. I’m just… tired.”

“I’ve got a couch, sugar. Or you can take my bed.”

Peter backs away, towards the ledge. Normally, he’d wait ‘till Wade was inside, but -

“Goodnight, Wade,” he says instead, and he drops off the ledge with as much grace as always. He doesn’t strain his ears to hear Wade’s response, focusing instead on the burn of his muscles as he swings, the rush of cold air screaming up to meet him, the twist and groan and of his webs taking and releasing his weight. The freedom he feels is nearly there, on the tip of his tongue and toes, but the entire swing home, it never comes. 


End file.
